GERALD. I could, Wentworth, I swear I could.
BOB. He'd get popular with the warders; he'd love that.
GERALD (smiling). Silly old ass! But there are lots of things one
can do in prison, only no one ever seems to think of them. (He gets
interested and begins to walk up and down the room.) Now take this
solitary confinement there's so much fuss about. If you look at it
the right way, there's nothing in it at all.
WENTWORTH. A bit boring, perhaps.
GERALD. Boring? Nonsense. You're allowed one book a week from the
prison library, aren't you?
WENTWORTH. You know, you mustn't think that, because I'm a
barrister, I know all about the inside of a prison.
GERALD. Well, suppose you are allowed one, and you choose a French
dictionary, and try to learn it off by heart before you come out.
Why, it's the chance of a lifetime to learn French.
WENTWORTH. Well, of course, if you _could_ get a French dictionary--
GERALD. Well, there'd be _some_ book there anyway. If it's a Bible,
read it. When you've read it, count the letters in it; have little
bets with yourself as to which man's name is mentioned most times
in it; put your money on Moses and see if you win. Anything like
that. If it's a hymn-book, count how many of the rhymes rhyme and
how many don't; try and make them _all_ rhyme. Learn 'em by heart;
I don't say that that would be particularly useful to you in the
business world afterwards, but it would be amusing to see how
quickly you could do it, how many you could keep in your head at
the same time.
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